


Wasted Weeks

by Laerthel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Doriath, Gen, Melian - Freeform, The Seven Gates, Thingol - Freeform, Union of Maedhros, feanorians - Freeform - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 08:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19169842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laerthel/pseuds/Laerthel
Summary: Amrod thought they had nothing to lose - their meeting with the Woodland King was not supposed to go very well either way. All he wanted was to do as little harm as possible. To parley with King Thingol, however, one needed to find his Halls first... [ CUT from 'The Seven Gates' ]





	Wasted Weeks

**_Doriath, FA 467, ides of Narquelië_ **

The woodlands were silent and empty, save for the two Elves and their horses as they floundered along some long-forsaken path, chest-deep in the dewy undergrowth.

“Easy, Súrion,” the first rider groaned. “Be at peace, for Valar's sake, or we shall sink even further into the pit we’re sitting in. Is that what you want, my friend? To wander these dark forests until the Sea rises and the world changes?”

“Our journey might easily end that way if you go on shouting like an Orc,” the other sighed. He leaned back in the saddle and closed his eyes for a silent moment of reflection. The trees were closing in around them again – exactly like yestereve, when they had to get off their saddles and lead their horses by the reins. Soon, they would have to walk again…

Amrod had found no map that could show the exact location of King Elu Thingol's halls, but all accounts he had read estimated the distance between Menegroth and the Himring to be between a hundred-and-eighty and two hundred miles – about five days' ride in a great hurry, or ten days if one chose to journey only after nightfall. The twins, however, had been travelling for almost two weeks without even encountering any of the tree-folk. After days of uneventful rambling in the woods, the experience was becoming most bothersome.

“Do you think the Moriquendi are doing this on purpose?” Amras asked his brother for the thousandth time.

“If they do, they shall have mercy on us sooner or later. And if they do not – well, then we deserve to journey to and fro until the end of our days as the winds of Manwë journey around the world. We have fallen under some spell or mischief, that much is certain; but we cannot let it seduce us, can we? What would Nelyo say...?”

“I am not Nelyo,” Amras sighed, “and neither are you. Nelyo always solves everything magically, without any visible effort. _He_ should have come parley with the Moriquendi, not us!”

“If you must call them names, take the effort to whisper.” Amrod could not hide his unease.

“They would not even understand what we are saying!”

“Only that we are using the Forbidden Tongue; and that much, I believe, is enough.”

Amras could not argue with that; and thus, the matter was settled. The track they followed was narrowing again, as if punishing them for their use of Quenya, and their horses dived even deeper in the straggly undergrowth.

A good day’s walk awaited them, just as Amrod had predicted.

* * *

When the thirteenth day of their journey dawned, Amrod noted a change in their horses' behaviour. Súrion was prancing excitedly, and his own mare, Vailindë was snorting with delight, consistently ignoring his orders to stay still.

“They are sensing something,” Amras said uncertainly. “I say we throw caution to the wind and follow our beloved companions. They shall find paths where we would see none, no matter how many years we have spent out in the wilderness.”

And follow their horses they did. The forest was still around them at first, and the great oaks, beeches and alders seemed to watch their backs like a pursuing army. Then slowly but steadily, as Anor journeyed in the sky outside, the ground started to rise under their feet. Small edges of rock were peeping out from the sea of rustling duff and grey-green moss below them, like the teeth of a stone dragon. Here and there, a breeze of wind travelled through the embrace of shroud far above, and it played with their hair: dark auburn and bright copper.

After what seemed like countless hours of walking, a path opened in front of them, so they could mount their horses again, and enjoy the caresses of wind upon their skin. The woodlands were still silent and empty, but they felt eyes upon their backs; echoes of whispered words, unspoken questions racing with the wind...

They were being watched; but no matter how many times they would call, they would get no answer.

* * *

Two more days Amrod and Amras journeyed upon the path; and when the third day dawned, they came upon a river. The twins could only hear its distant murmur at first, then the ground started to fall swiftly and steadily. The tumult of trees was getting scarce around them, until they could see the open sky above the tangle of leaves and branches. At some places, it was an angry shade of grey that promised rain; at others it was dirty white, the colour of milk when it goes sour.

“This must be the very same river that touches the borders of Himlad,” Amras said. “Lóminenna, as we call it.”

“As long as it washes the banks of these lands, Esgalduin is the name,” Amrod said with his interest rising. If they found the river, they would soon find the King's Halls, he knew.

In happier times, they would have followed the Great Road that ran across Beleriand, well south of the Enemy's lands, and they would have come upon Iant Iaur, the great stone bridge that cut the road; but at Maedhros's command, they crossed the wastelands south of the March instead; then, parting with their companions, they rode into the forest near what they thought to be the eastern border of Thingol's realm. Whether their coming was seen or anticipated, they did not know.

Amrod preferred not to imagine what Maedhros – or Counsellor Tyelco, for that matter – would say if and when they had word of their plan: that they had entered a foreign realm without soldiers or even a flag. The reasoning behind it, however, was simple: Sons of Fëanor or not, former princes or not, Amrod sincerely doubted that King Thingol would let a band of splendidly armed Noldorin knights enter his halls. He wanted to keep his and his brother’s appearance as simple as he could. Demonstrating power, singing of wounded pride and haughtiness, aggressively demanding respect… that was the way of their brothers, as Amrod had already noticed; but these methods only seemed to work in the case of Maedhros (who almost entirely lacked haughtiness, to be just). Their eldest brother could silence a room with a glance, that much was true; but when it came to the others... Maglor was too humble, Caranthir too hot-headed, Celegorm too sarky, Curufin too bitter to make such an effect on people And _them_ … well, in Amrod's opinion, they were simply too young.

They were _definitely_ old enough to try and parley with King Thingol in their own way, though. Their soldiers had been commanded to wait for them at the Falls of Sirion, then see them to Nargothrond. Amrod could only hope that Maedhros – or anyone else – would never have word of what truly happened.

 _Atar would probably threaten us with a sledgehammer if he knew what we were up to,_ Amras had told him many times before. And he was probably right; still, Amrod thought they had nothing to lose. Their meeting with the Woodland King was not supposed to go very well either way. All he wanted was to do as little harm as possible.

To parley with King Thingol, however, one needed to find his Halls first.

* * *

Esgalduin was wide, its course deep and mysterious; and the twins could not guess if its water was blackened by the gloom of the forest, the river's unexplored depths or some sort of dark spell. This deep in the woodland realm, every tale they've heard of Queen Melian's magic and malice came back to them with great intensity and greater unease. _The Woodland Queen,_ both Ñoldor and Úmanyar called her, their voices only a whisper when they mentioned her name. Amrod, for his part, had always looked forward to having a word with her; nevertheless, he had to admit that the prospect of being at Queen Melian’s mercy deeply unnerved him.

Amras knelt down by the bank and dipped his hand into the restless water. “It is cool to the touch,” he said, “and very clear. If only our streams and rivers were this pleasant!" 

“These lands are not touched by the perils of the outside world.” Amrod bowed his head. “Those who dwell here have much to thank for their hills and trees and rivers; and their king as well. I think, brother, that our wanderings in these woods made me understand why the Moriquendi prefer to hide from us. Look at the peace that surrounds us! This is their kind of wealth. This is their kind of treasure and gold.”

“Their king has much treasure of _our_ kind, too, or so it is said.” Amras glared at his twin. “Do not be too gentle, or generous.”

“I do not want the Moriquendi to be our enemies. We are supposed to be neighbours, and the closest allies, even if we are so terribly different.”

“That we are,” Amras sighed. He dipped his hands in the water again to wash his face. “Do you not feel uneasy in these woods? I am used to hunting, and so are you; but the silence that reigns among these trees wears me out terribly. The trees are silent, and so are the birds. And we have not seen as much as a doe or a rabbit for days!”

“I think I feel what you do.” Amrod stood, his hands on his hips. “But I also feel great curiosity, and eagerness. Enmity, I feel not; at least, not openly. The trees are weary, as they have seen much. Surely, you cannot blame them? I think that we are on the right path now. All we have to do is follow the river.”

“I hope you are right,” Amras said softly. “Let us stay here ‘til nightfall. We shan't lose the river in the dark; and I would dearly like to hear it sing for a while.”

And stay they did, as their horses grazed. The rest of the afternoon passed with silent conversation and a pleasant show of fish chasing each other amongst the lazy waves. Shadows deepened around them, and the pale grey strap of sky that was visible above the river was turning darker and darker. Amrod watched the circles in the water, drawn by the pebbles his brother cast in; and softly, he sang.

 

_Across the Sea, across the shores_

_the stars are pale and silver-gold_

_across the lands of wrath and ruin_

_across the hell of iron hewn_

_across the green forests and mines,_

_near Trees my mind wanders of old._

_Thitherto look, to see, my friend_

_what light and might were we to lose;_

_across meadows and flowers white_

_across cities rising 'midst light_

_across havens of brothers killed;_

_what Darkness cast was made the noose._

_Thitherto look, to see, my King,_

_what Darkness wrought of your own pride_

_across cities and seashores white...._

 

“Ambarussa,” said Amras suddenly, “I believe that is enough.”

“You, my brother, are beyond all bearings!” Amrod sighed in annoyance. “I know I am not Kano – but could have just waited a few more verses. It was getting less gloomy. It really was.”

“We are being watched. And you singing in Quenya is not very likely to help us.”

Amrod inhaled sharply. Drawing his sword was even _less_ likely to help; but he had no choice. He sprang to his feet, and looked around in the silent, perfectly empty-looking forest. His brother was right; he could now feel the foreign presence, too.

“We are friends,” he said in Sindarin. “We seek an audience with King Thingol, Lord of these Lands. We are looking for the way to his halls, for we came to deliver him an important message. Grant us your help, Guardians of this land, if such is within your power! We mean no harm.”

For a few heartbeats, only silence followed; then the brothers heard the string of a longbow loosening, and a tall shadow appeared among the shades of the forest. Amrod could make out the silhouette of a hooded figure, with a large quiver hanging from broad shoulders.

“Lay down your arms, Lords of the West,” said he, in heavily accented Sindarin, “for they will not help you.”

When the twins made no motion, the speaker came forth, and let his own bow and quiver fall on the ground. Then he drew a large knife from its scabbard and placed it down as well. He undid the clasp on his cloak, too, showing them his hands and his face, and the Amrod saw that he bore the sigil of the Woodland King. His hair gleamed like moonlight in the dark, and his face was solemn, but not without kindliness.

“See,” the stranger said, “I come to you unarmed, and as long as you hold no grudge against my King, you need not fear me or my companions. My name is Beleg, and I am chief of the marchwardens of this land. Your presence, lords, was reported long ago, and we have chased you for a long time. I must congratulate you, for it took five of my best men to track you down. Tell me your names and whence you came!”

The twins exchanged a quick glance, then threw their swords, hunting knives, bows and quivers on the ground.

“From the North we have come through peril and death, Beleg of the Woodland Realm,” Amrod said, raising his head, “and I must congratulate you as well for finding us; for whence we come, we are renowned hunters of the woods, and seldom do we sleep in the settlements of our kin. We do not speak our names out in the open, as I am sure your king would agree; but I shall have you know that we are carrying a most important message, and that we are of your Ñoldorin kin.”

“I have never heard any of the Ñoldor addressing us as kin,” Beleg said suspiciously.

“Then get used to it.” Amrod smiled. “For too long we have let strife divide us. Shall you please lead us to your king?”

“By the law of these lands, I must ask you more questions, even if I do not see the shadow of malice in your eyes,” the warden said. "You have to come with me now. A message shall be delivered to our King and Queen, and they will decide if they will hear you.”

“Do you fear us so?” Amras frowned.

Amrod squeezed his shoulder. “Be at peace, brother. I doubt that the lives of those who guard Doriath would by any means be easier than ours. It is their right to question us.”

“Thank you for your understanding, lord.” Beleg bowed his head. “It might be a small solace, but you shall have food and wine to raise your spirits.”

“Now that is all one could hope for!” Amrod laughed. “Do you have some kind of housing for our horses as well?”

“It can be settled,” the Sinda said – a bit coolly, a bit grudgingly, but not in a strictly unfriendly way. “You are now allowed to arm yourselves again, as I also will.”

 _Yes,_ Amrod thought as they followed Beleg and the dim shadows of his fellow archers across the woods. _Yes, this could work._

It could definitely work - at least, until the moment when their companions would find out who they were.

 _We still have time,_ Amrod soothed himself. _It is dark; our hair now seems just as black as Carnistir's or Makalaurë's. For a little while still, we look entirely common._

* * *

After what seemed an hour's walk to Amrod, they came upon a valley amidst the dark trees. The river was not far: he could still faintly hear its song from the distance.

 _“Túlë, túlë,”_ his brother whispered to Súrion. The stallion was indeed very reluctant to follow his master in his descent amongst poking roots and the tangle of scrub and undergrowth around them. Vailindë, on the other hand, followed with mirth, and she snorted happily whenever one of the woodelves approached her. All things considered, the mare seemed more likely to help him settle diplomatic matters than his brother…

Amrod swallowed a chuckle at the thought.

“We are here,” Beleg announced when they reached a spot at the bottom of the valley where the scrogs seemed impenetrable. “One of my fellow captains shall now ask you about the nature of your message. My companions shall leave us and return to the watch. Come with me; you will soon be able to rest.”

“We do not need any more rest than you, hunter of the woods,” Amras said, oblivious to his brother’s kick on his ankle. Beleg said nothing to that; he turned his back on them and disappeared among the bushes.

“Have you lost your wits?!” Amrod whispered in their own tongue. “You're being worse than Carnistir!”

“I do not like this Moriquend ordering us around,” Amras whispered back.

“Neither do I, but that is entirely unimportant. Show some courtesy, and he might show more. The Úmanyar must have other notions about being polite than we do. If we find out what these are, we might still win them to our cause.”

“I don't know you, my lord,” Amras whispered mockingly, “are we related?”

A moment later the bushes opened before them, and they found themselves facing a large birch tree. The murmur of the river was becoming louder again, and sweet scents floated in the air.

“And where is he now?” Amras sighed. “Are we to play hide-and-seek?”

“For one who is not tired, my lord,” said Beleg's voice on their left, “you are painfully slow.”

Amras glared at him, but Amrod laughed merrily. “You earned that, brother! Now behave, or else the Woodland King's good people might restrain wine from you.”

“We do not restrain wine from anyone,” said Beleg starkly, but the brothers caught the faintest shadow of a smile rushing through his eyes.

“Now that is a relief,” said Amras measuredly. “Why, Beleg of the Woods, we still might find that our lords have a few things in common.”

“We might,” said the Sinda, though he did not sound convinced at all. Instead of any other remark, he gestured the twins to follow him. “I do not know if your people are used to climbing trees,” he said, “but that is where we can talk.”

“Atop a tree?” Amrod's eyes widened in marvel.

“Interesting…” Amras grinned. “I do not take the dwelling of birds, unless I want to catch them.”

“There is a first time for everything,” Beleg said smoothly; and with a jump, he was already upon a large oak. The twins followed, marvelling at how the tree's branches seemed to grow in the exact way where they needed a handhold.

A few grips later, they were surprised when their fingers touched the edges of steady wooden floor. A shelter was built among the tree's branches, or so it seemed; it even had torch-holders in its living walls, though the fires burned low, as if to avoid setting the whole establishment on fire. Beleg stepped forth, greeting a hooded figure who was huddled in the furthest corner of the shelter.

“At last you have come, Cúthalion,” he said. “I was wondering if I should follow you to Mandos.”

“Your sense of humour still leaves much to be desired,” Beleg said.

“My _what?”_ Said the other Elf with a frown. He was _dreadfully_ familiar to Amrod – and to his twin, as a quick squeeze on his hand suggested. _But how could they know him?_

The answer – and the realization – hit hard when the Elf presented himself.

“I am Mablung, Chief Captain of King Thingol,” he said, taking a torch from its holder and swinging it towards the twins to look at their faces. “Who are you, lords, and what is your business with the – “

The light fell on them, and he audibly bit back a curse.

“Your greetings are courteous as ever, Lord Mablung,” Amrod said, with a light bow of his head. “I, too, am very glad to see you again.”

“As am I,” said Amras with an effort. “I believe we could skip introductions, then?”

 _“You know each other?!”_ Beleg was thunderstruck.

“Wonderful deduction!” Mablung rolled his eyes. “I congratulate you, Captain Beleg, for having safely delivered Amrod and Amras, sons of Fëanor to a place where we can keep an eye on them. I may not have honoured this task in your stead, let me admit.”

“Sons of Fëanor?” The sudden spark in Beleg's eyes promised nothing good.

“So we are,” Amrod sighed, “but that is a mere detail. Would it be too great of a request to see us as simple travellers who have a harmless business with your King?”

“A harmless business?” Mablung frowned. “Blackmail and harassment, I'd rather! I believe I have already understood the nature of your so-called _business!”_

“If you take us for common murderers, then we shall take you for common thieves!” Amras hissed, and his hand reached for his knife.

“Insulting each other will not help us settle this matter, will it?” Amrod all but shouted, holding his brother back. “Lord Mablung, I am taken aback by your lack of courtesy. You may notice that we rode to your forests without any armed accompaniment, or flags, or splendour of any kind...”

“Yes, you stole in...”

“If you wish – then we did!” Amrod was losing his patience _. “We stole in!_ And that was because we have no reason to fear you; we do not look at you as a threat, but as our own people! Why would we need arms to protect ourselves against our own kin?”

“Aye, that was a fair question,” Mablung bellowed, “before Alkwalondë!”

For the shortest fraction of a second, Amrod wanted to laugh at his heavy accent; but something – maybe instinct, maybe his persisting rage – made him think better of it.

“Listen, lords…” he sighed, “we cannot change the past. No one can, not even the Powers. But our message has no threat in it – not if it meets keen ears and understanding. Much has happened since we met at the Meress Aderthad...” (Amrod saw Mablung wince slightly, mirroring his previous amusement on pronunciation). “...and your King might rejoice to hear some of our news. We shan’t force you to respect us, or treat us well, or by any means enjoy our company; but we have as much right as anyone else in Beleriand to seek audience with your King. We are kin, and we should act that way. We seek help and we are _willing_ to help. We seek counsel but we are also ready to provide it. We shall lay down our arms, as we did previously, if such is your wish. Do not regard us as threats, my lords – regard us as two famished, and now, Lord Beleg, I shall truly admit: _tired_ travellers, who are entirely at your mercy. Shall you let them rest through the night? Shall you give them food and drink? Shall you listen to what they might say…? Or shell you call them liars and murderers without any reason? I am grieved to see that the malice of Morgoth have found its way this deep within our realms.”

The two Sindar paled at the mention of the Enemy's name; but they said nothing for a long time. Eventually, Beleg shifted a little, and he spoke to Mablung.

“My heart tells me that they are right. They should be allowed before the King like anyone else.”

“I doubt that King Thingol would receive you, Sons of Fëanor,” Mablung said, “but you have every right to seek him. I shall send messengers to Menegroth in an hour, telling that you have come to reclaim his Jewel.”

“The Silmaril is his only to deliver to its rightful owners,” Amras said menacingly, “and not for us to claim. 'Tis a family heritage.”

“Now-now, my lords,” Amrod said lightly, “again you're anchoring down at what is to be a minor point of our discussion with the King.”

 _“A minor point?”_ Mablung looked aghast.

“You have heard me, Captain. All else shall be said in the presence of the King. Bid whoever you will to tell that the Sons of Fëanor are coming with generous terms to help Elu Thingol wipe the Orc-filth out of his lands!”

Both Mablung and Beleg looked at them with unreadable eyes; then, as if they had suddenly come to a mute agreement, Mablung sprang to his feet and left the shelter. Beleg stayed where he was, and he raised his weary eyes to them.

“Lords Amrod and Amras from the House of the Star, your request shall be presented to our King. Until then, be our guests. I promise that from tomorrow, you shall be given better accommodations.”

“We do not want to trouble you,” Amras suddenly said. His voice was still far from friendly, but his eyes had softened. “We are willing to care for ourselves, even to go hunting with you and your people. See, we, Ñoldor are much less a nuisance if you keep us occupied.”

Amrod felt a sudden urge to embrace his brother. This was _exactly_ what Maedhros had bid them to do; and their inevitable waiting in the woodelves' dwellings provided an opportunity to get themselves known. They only had to seize it.

“I will mention it to Captain Mablung,” Beleg said. “If he gives leave, you may hunt with us, if that is your wish.”

Amrod nodded his thanks, and the Sinda took his leave, taking a torch with him. The twins huddled together in their cloaks and drifted off to the eerie realm of sleep.

They had no choice but to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes
> 
> a) On the Plot
> 
> This chapter was cut from my ‘The Seven Gates’, as it would have complicated the main threads far too much. I may or may not write the scene with Thingol later – the general outcome of the twins’ quest, however, will figure in ‘The Seven Gates’.
> 
> b) On Names
> 
> Súrion [Q] m.: "son of wind"  
> Vailindë [Q] m.: "wind-song"
> 
> c) Background Lore
> 
> "The Moriquendi" are, in classic terms, the Avari (Elves who did not even begin the Great Journey) + those who started it but never set foot in Aman (typically Sindar and Nandor). However, the term "moriquend" was considered as an insult in the First Age; for "those of not Aman", Elves used the politically correct name "Úmanyar". It seems likely to me, though, that the Sons of Fëanor used the term "moriquend" to all Elves who were not from Aman, and even for Thingol (who is not even a moriquend, since he journeyed in Valinor as an ambassador of his people, and saw the light of the Trees).
> 
> "Alkwalondë" and "Meress Aderthad" are spelled this way to show bad pronunciation. A few words on the latter, since it is not very known: the Mereth Aderthad (m.: Feast of Reuniting) was "the great celebratory feast held at the order of High King Fingolfin in the twentieth year after the first rising of the Sun (...) Its purpose was to unite all of the divided Elves in one cause, and ambassadors came from all the peoples and realms of Beleriand". (Tolkien Gateway). Mablung was probably part of the Doriath delegation.


End file.
